


Nothing to Fear

by Sinclaironfire



Series: Duck Feels [5]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adult Fear, Ancient curses are powerful curses, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone faces what they fear, Fear, Fear of Death, Hallucinations, I swear there's a happy ending, Major character introspection, Psychological Trauma, SAves the day, They can't escape, Trapped, an unexpected hero, everyone goes home happy and alive, fear of being alone, fear of the unknown, it doesn't go well, no one stood a chance, then go quickly downhill, things start off normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinclaironfire/pseuds/Sinclaironfire
Summary: A curse traps the McDuck family with their worst fears.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!

It was such a trivial little thing. In the grand estate that was McDuck manor, the home that housed so many dangers and priceless artifacts, that such a tiny piece of jewelry could be easily overlooked amongst the statues and weaponry that was commonplace. The little necklace, harmless at first glance, was raided from a lost Egyptian tomb.

Its original owner, whose name was lost to the ages, was cruel, unkind, paranoid but worst of all, powerful.

She was a wickedly talented sorceress in her day. Her powers were feared by all and it was by fear that she ruled with an iron fist. Her powers, traveling through the air, took hold and poisoned minds. She forced her subjects to succumb to her rule or to their fear and die.

Her reign lasted for decades until one brave soul, a soldier, with a clear mind and perfect aim ended her with an arrow. With her dying breath, she cast her final curse of fear and placed it on her most prized possession: her necklace. The sorceress vowed vengeance on weak minds and then died.

The soldier, fearing the worst, buried the necklace with a protective charm. He was sure that the curse would never see the light of day again but instead, the curse slept and awaited the day some fool woke it up. That fool would be four children, unaware of the immense danger kept in their great uncle’s garage.

“Do you guys see the bikes?” Huey asked as he shifted a tower of newspapers away.

“No,” answered Webby. “Granny said she left them out for us.”

“Ugh, where are they? I wanna get going already,” moaned Louie.

Dewey jumped from cardboard box tower to the next. “Just pretend it’s an adventure, Louie! We’re off to find the lost chariots of the mysterious McDuck family!”

“You know, just because you put the word ‘adventure’ in a sentence, doesn’t make it so,” Louie replied before laying back down.

Dewey rolled his eyes as he continued to jump. “Yeah, well we’ll see whose having an adventure,” he jumped to the next cardboard tower, “When I find the bikes – WHOA!” his already precarious footing slipped and Dewey fell. A miniature avalanche of boxes tumbled over him.

“Dewey!” his brothers called out as they rushed to clear the mess.

“Dewey? Are you alright?” Webby asked.

“I’m fine. I landed on my head but, hey, I found the bikes!”

“That’s using your head,” Louie said, pulling his brother up. “Come on! Let’s go to the park!”

“Shouldn’t we clean up Mr. McDuck’s garage?” Webby asked.

“Webs, this garage is massive. It’s still a mess from the last time we were here,” answered Dewey, pointing to the hole in the ceiling where a certain gold eating dragon had torn through.

“The mess will still be here when we get back,” reasoned Louie. “It’s not like it’s going anywhere.”

“Besides, if we don’t get to the skate park before three, the teens won’t let us have a spot. I promise that we’ll clean it up when we get back.”

Webby looked back at the mess but decided that the triplets knew best. Besides, she’d never been to a skate park before. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go!”

The children rode away and instantly forgot about the lingering mess in the garage. One of the boxes that were knocked away had its contents spilled out on the floor. The necklace rolled into the ventilation system and the curse awoke.

Slowly, it spread through the ventilation system. It might have taken years for the curse to work its way through but with one click, the AC unit was turned on. The curse spread like wildfire. From the garage to the children’s bedrooms, to Scrooge McDuck’s office, the unseen danger traveled through and found its first victim in the kitchen.


	2. Mrs. Beakley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She'd failed everyone.

 

There were very few things that could strike fear into Mrs. Beakley’s heart.

She did not become head of S.H.U.S.H. by being easily frightened. No, through her extensive career, she had seen it all. She had gained friends and lost friends, she watched new young lives born into the world and the old lives stifled abruptly, she knew the joys of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat and knew the bitter taste of surrender.

She had done a lot, see a lot, and she would be damned if she would let something that went bump in the night scare her.

But it was when everyone else was asleep and the chores were done that she would lie awake in her own bed and worry about things that had happened, things that were happening, and things yet to come. Everything with Mr. McDuck and his strained relationship with his family, that new girl whom Webby insisted was the coolest person ever, to keeping her ever-growing household together. She wasn’t as hard-hearted as she once was.

Civilian life had made her soft.

Her worries of saving the world from yet another threat had switched to the more domestic styled. However, simply because her fears were domestic, did not mean they were any less terrifying. Scrooge had more enemies than any one person should have. From the Beagle Boys to that Glomgold man, Scrooge had a waiting list of people who wanted to see him dead in ways that sent shivers down her spine. Scrooge McDuck was the only person she knew who actually spent time with people who routinely tried to murder him in gruesome ways.

It crossed her mind to scold him about who he was hanging out with, to forbid him from setting foot in the Billionaire’s Club with that murderous faux-Scot but deep in her heart, she couldn’t do it. Despite, what she thought of Scrooge’s enemies, Glomgold was one of the few people she knew of that could set Scrooge back on his old self. Still, like any sane housekeeper, she had her rules about who could set foot in _her_ house.

  1. Glomgold was not to be allowed inside.
  2. No one with a minimum of two murder attempts on anyone’s life was allowed to set foot on the grounds.
  3. If a person who suffered from chronic murder syndrome was allowed in the house then they were forced to wear a tracking device at all times and never allowed near the children.



Her rules, as mundane as they might be, gave her solace that despite what madcap adventures life might bring, she could still keep some semblance of sanity present. As long as her rules stood, no harm would fall on her family.

Or so she thought.

The AC unit whirled to life as she finished wiping down the kitchen counters. She was surprised to feel the air on. Scrooge might have been generous with funds but when it came to the thermostat, he refused to turn it up or down unless it the outside temperature reached a certain level but she guessed that the warm summer’s day was enough to put him aching for the cold. Mrs. Beakley carried on with her duties but momentarily stayed in the path of the cool air.

She sighed happily and armed with her mop, broom, and feather duster, she was ready to maintain her home to her exact standards. When it came to cleaning the manor, she always started with the kitchen and then it was onto the children’s bedrooms followed by the living rooms and the study. The foyer was the last thing to be cleaned what with people coming and going all the time. That was how she cleaned but today, as she crossed the hall into the west wing, she saw something that stopped her cold.

There was blood in the foyer.

There was too much of it to be a simple cut or bleed. There was simply too much blood.

Beakley bolted from her post and ran into the foyer. She followed the blood trail into the coat closet. Inside the closet were Huey, Louie, Dewey, and Webby’s dead bodies. Where once she would have jumped into action, Mrs. Beakley was stunned into submission. She froze as her mind reeled to process what she saw before her.

Their broken bodies laid in a pile. Their throats were slashed in such a way that the children’s heads were severed. Beakley realized to her horror that she was standing in their blood.  

“Dear heavens…”

She stepped out of the closet but she never lost sight of the children. Beakley’s mind flickered. Her inner agent raged for vengeance but her grandmother side, that her civilian life nurtured, wanted to mourn. Her granddaughter, the boys….all dead. She had set foot in hellish landscapes before where dead children were the norm. It used to bug her but the more missions she went on, the more death she saw, it numbed her. She wished she could be numb again but when it was her children who were dead on the floor, everything was different.

“No, no, no, no…” she shook her head. “No…”

The sound of a vase crashing to the floor snapped her back to the situation at hand: There was a murderer in her home.

Her family was in danger.

She didn’t have the chance to save her children but she would not fail the rest of her family. Her mind was horribly divided as she chased after the unseen intruder. The manor was in every sense of the word a safe house. The manor was fortified, her rules kept them safe, she never allowed anyone dangerous in.

_How did they get in_ , Beakley panicked as she ran at breakneck speed.

A million different scenarios raced through her mind. She only stopped thinking when she found Donald dead in one of the manor’s doorways. He’d been shot. She would never have recognized him if not for his iconic sailor suit. Beakley paused, nearly stopping, but the dead were dead. As much as she wanted to cover him up, give him some dignity, she couldn’t afford to. There was Scrooge and Launchpad to protect. If she couldn’t save Donald or the children then she would protect Launchpad and Scrooge

_Let me have something left_ , she prayed, _let me save them._

Launchpad would not be saved. Mrs. Beakley found him impaled by a spear. Above his head was the message: YOU CAN’T STOP ME!

“Scrooge!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

Down the halls, she ran to her employer’s office.

YOU CAN’T STOP ME! The message was everywhere. YOU CAN’T STOP ME! YOU CAN’T STOP ME! YOU CAN’T STOP ME! YOU CAN’T STOP ME!

_Please let him be alive_ , Beakley hoped, _Let me save one person. Let me save him!_

Scrooge was not in his office. He wasn’t in his private study. Beakley ran to the only room that was left untouched by the haunting messages: Scrooge’s room. She threw open the door with a bang.

“Scrooge! We need to leave! There’s someone in the house – the children and Donald and Launchpad! They’re all…” She couldn’t say it. It was bad enough to have seen it firsthand but to recount the terror to Scrooge? She would tell him when he was safe – when they were safe and the murderous son of a bitch who violated the sanctity of her home was dead.

“Scrooge?”

Her employer and the sole living person that she had yet to fail was lying peacefully in his bed. Cautiously, she approached him.

“Scrooge? Sir?”

He was dead too. Unlike the others, he showed no signs of having to suffer a violent death, save for the hand marks around his neck. Mrs. Beakley, who had stayed relatively calm throughout her ordeal, broke down and sobbed.

She failed everyone and they had paid for her negligence with their lives.


	3. Launchpad McQuack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crashing was natural, monsters were not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize. I'm not as well-versed on Darkwing Duck as I should be. I'm sorry if I got the references wrong.

Crashing was a natural thing.

Some people might have thought otherwise but what comes up, must come down. Crashing was just another way of doing it. Sure, there were people who thought nose-diving into the ground was terrifying but for Launchpad McQuack, it was part of his life. Crashing was as natural to him as it was to breathe. He could easily recall the first time he dove his plane headfirst into the ground. His alarms were screaming wildly, the air masks descended, and the ground was approaching fast.

And he crashed hard but he was alive. He walked away from the wreckage without a scratch on him.

Launchpad McQuack would go on to crash many more times after that. Sometimes, he crashed because he ran out of fuel. Other times he met the ground due to being shot down but more often than not, it was because of Mother Nature. Flying during a category five storm was beautiful but not recommended. Mother Nature didn’t appreciate flyboys messing with her display and so down he went. Launchpad understood it perfectly but there was something about flying during the middle of a hurricane that was stunning. Mother Nature might not have liked him up there but he couldn’t help himself. As many times as she brought him down, he would get back up again.

Something as natural as crashing could never scare him and neither could the people that he fought over in St. Canard. The villains that he and DW fought were people. They might have power over electricity or plants or water but underneath it all, they were still people and the reasons that they committed crimes were things that he could understand perfectly.

Why was Bushroot attacking his old colleagues?

Revenge.

Why was Tuskerinni robbing a costume ball?

Fame and money.

Why was Megavolt stealing lightbulbs and setting them free in the wild?

Okay, Megavolt was a bit of a weird dude but he was still just a normal guy with some memory problems underneath his costume. Motives were simple. Commit crime to steal money, steal money to do the bigger crime, hit Darkwing to stop from going to jail. It was wash, rinse, repeat and it was easy as hell to follow.

Fighting people bad guys was natural.

Crashing was natural.

But things that went bump in the night? Not so natural. There were people in costume who did monstrous things and then there were actual monsters. Those were things that he didn’t understand nor did he want to be anywhere near. It was people like Morgana McCawber who saw the natural world and flipped it on its head.

Darkwing died? Oh, we’ll just bring him back to life!

Someone’s stealing valuables? It’s the work of a dream demon!

Pizza toppings going missing? Evil mushrooms brought to life!

There was no rhyme or reason to anything. How was he ever supposed to make sense of it all? Monsters weren’t natural. They didn’t reveal their scheme or show off their weaknesses when they were gloating. Monsters just did what monsters did and that usually involved hurting Darkwing, threatening Gosalyn, or simply scaring the crap out of him. If given the choice between fighting the Fearsome Four or whatever ghost or ghoul Mr. McD found, Launchpad would pick the Fearsome Four without fail. At least with them, he knew what he was dealing with.

Which was why when he came into the manor house to get a drink, he wished he was fighting the Fearsome Four. The second he set foot inside, he saw something move under a chair. It wasn’t one of the kid’s toys or a mouse (like Mrs. B. would ever let a mouse in her house). Launchpad didn’t know what it was but it wasn’t normal. It was something _else_.

He ignored it (if he didn’t acknowledge it then it wasn’t real, right?) and went on but the thing followed him. Launchpad could feel its gaze drilling into his skull. He walked a little faster but the thing pursued him. In no time at all, Launchpad was running down the halls and the creature followed. No matter how fast or how hard he ran, the creature was right on him. It breathed down his neck.

“NO!” Launchpad dove into a closet and barricaded the door. The creature knew where he was. Slim black tendrils snaked inside the closet. Launchpad gasped in horror as he backed away. What the hell was this thing? The tendrils twisted upwards to the door handle. Launchpad stumbled backwards. The tendrils curled around the handle and pulled it down. Before the door was opened, Launchpad heard a familiar laughing and giggling and gentle scolding

_Not the kids and Mrs. B.,_ Launchpad feared, _no, not my little buddies._

When the beast found them, there was silence. Launchpad inched his way to the door. He avoided the tendrils and put his head to the door. He strained for a sign that they were okay but all he heard was silence.

An hour passed and then another. Then Launchpad gasped as he heard Scrooge shout, “CURSE ME KILTS! WHAT IN DISMAL-“

And then there was silence.

They were gone.

“Oh, come on, LP,” he told himself, “The kids need you, Mrs. B. needs you, Mr. McD needs you…you can do this, you can do this….OKAY! Let’s get dangerous!”

He kicked down the door and was immediately attacked by the creature. The thing had too many eyes and too many sharp fangs. It didn’t have a normal body. It writhed and squirmed. It was an inky black mass that absorbed everything in its path. Launchpad shouted as he fought against the creature’s grasp. The creature held him fast. Any attempt to escape only made the creature stronger. Launchpad struggled and the creature swallowed him whole.

And then there was silence. 


	4. Donald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were so many worse things than dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if it's not sad enough.

 

 

There were so many worse things than dying.

Like that time Donald and Della were going to the park with their parents when they were six, only to have a drunk driver crash into the family car head on. Like watching their parents die in front of them while they were trapped by their seatbelts and couldn’t do anything but cry. Like having to bury their parents and Donald having to be the strong one because he was the oldest.

That was bad.

It could have been worse, it could always be worse, but Donald had Della and she made things better. It didn’t matter that they had to sell their family home and moved to Grandma’s house out in the country. They had each other but there were still so many worse things than dying.

Like Gladstone’s parents die the next month and despite having gone through the exact same thing, Gladstone sticking his bill up in the air and say to Donald, “Bad things don’t happen to lucky people like me! They happen to bad luck people like you!”

That was bad.

Donald punching him out was also bad. It felt good but it was bad.

And yet, despite the scolding and the punishment, there were still so many worse things than dying. Like moving into Uncle Scrooge’s home during the summer because between Donald, Della, and Gladstone, Donald and Della were the bigger handfuls. Like having Uncle Scrooge regard them somewhere between “pesky children” and “you remind me of my dead sister”. Scrooge was a brilliant businessman but he didn’t know how to handle children. He avoided them.

That was bad.

Donald and Della’s parents always said that family helped family but their family didn’t know how to help. The family was fractured. It didn’t get any better when the Beagle Boys invaded the manor and tied them up. The masked criminals ranted that Scrooge would pay for their ransom or he would be paying for their funeral.

That was bad.

But Uncle Scrooge storming the manor house with only a cane and swearing (oh, the kids learned so many new swear words that day!) that the Beagle boys would never harm his family. Uncle Scrooge single-handedly defeated the Beagle Boys.

That was good.

Because Uncle Scrooge with as many enemies as he had, thought it was important to teach them how to handle themselves. Thus, began a family tradition of going on adventures. Seeing lost cities, finding hidden treasure, and doing things people only ever get to dream about was the purest definition of family fun.

That was great.

But the bad followed. The bad always followed.

The bad this time was Glomgold who followed them into a secret cave. They were searching for a rare diamond that was rumored to possess incredible power, Glomgold was searching for a way to kill Scrooge and this time he found it. Unknown at the time, the diamond was actually a death curse and Glomgold found it first. Glomgold had trapped them, did his whole “Declaration of Hatred” speech, and used the diamond to try and kill Scrooge.

There were so many worse things than dying.

Like seeing Glomgold threaten the closest thing that Donald had to a father. So, without even thinking about it, Donald shoved Scrooge away and took the hit. His breath stilled and his heart stopped cold. He died in that cave. The agonized cries of Scrooge filled the cave while Della showed Glomgold the infamous anger behind the McDuck name.

She nearly killed him.

But the death curse was just a curse and thus reversible only by true love. Donald would come out of it, scaring his Uncle and sister when he came stumbling out of their plane’s makeshift morgue and into the cockpit asking what the hell happened back in the cave.

Dying didn’t scare him. Donald knew better. Death was just another adventure that he was in no hurry to go on. And yet, there were so many worse things than dying.

Like going on an adventure with his uncle and sister for a mythical spear and then in an instant losing his sister. Like understanding that his uncle had recklessly cost him his twin. Like realizing that he wasn’t going to be an uncle anymore but a father to three orphaned chicks who would never know the person that their mother was. Like knowing he could never call himself Huey, Louie, and Dewey’s father because in doing so would mean that he had officially buried his sister and would have to admit that she was never coming back.

Like seeing for the first time just how fractured his family was.

Donald knew that his family would never be as whole as it once was but he would be damned if he would let anyone take apart his family again. So, as Donald drove up to the stately manor house and went inside, his terrible vision of fear wasn’t of himself dying or being injured but of a knock on the door and seeing a sharply dressed woman with a shiny badge.

“Mr. Duck? I’m with Children’s Protective Services. I’m here to take custody of Hubert, Louis, and Dewford Duck.”

“You can’t!” Tears welled up automatically. He couldn’t be angry, he was too broken hearted.  

“You’ve been deemed as an unqualified caregiver to the children. They can’t stay with you.”

“But-“

“Your houseboat exploded.”

“That was an accident!” Donald defended, trying to stay calm.

“The children could have been killed. Mr. Duck, you aren’t suited to take care of the children. You don’t even have a job.”

“I do! With my uncle!”

“The uncle who took the children to Atlantis?” said the CPS agent. “You can’t be serious. He’s unstable.”

“He’s not. I swear!”

But the CPS agent’s mind was made up. She stepped aside and took Huey, Dewey, and Louie away. The boys kicked and fought and resisted every effort but they were placed inside the sleek black vehicle.

“Can I give them a hug? Please? Let me say goodbye to my boys!” he begged.

“No,” she answered and slammed the door behind her.

There were so many worse things than dying like having your children taken away.


	5. Scrooge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge hated being alone.

In his office, counting change, was Scrooge McDuck.

A gleeful grin was present on his face as the nickels and dimes quickly added up to dollar amounts. The old man sighed happily for what was better than seeing his money grow? The sudden noise of children laughing gave him a clue. Scrooge left his desk and watched from his window as his great nephews and niece biked down the hill that their home was based on. Down they went, whooping wildly and challenging the other to go faster. They were gone in the blink of an eye. It was good to hear laughter again.

Money was a fine thing but family was truly a greater treasure.

And his family had been apart from each other for far too long. His nephews didn’t even know about him until roughly a month ago. Oh, yes, they knew of Scrooge McDuck the trillionaire but they didn’t know of Scrooge McDuck their uncle. To finally meet his lost family, it only took Donald reaching his highest point of desperation, a gold eating dragon running loose, a ghost wanting to kill him and a horse without a head, a death trap laden lost civilization, nearly drowning, Glomgold attempting to blow them up, and Donald’s houseboat exploding. If he had known that was all he would have to go through to get his family back, Scrooge would have done it sooner. What was a little thing like danger compared to his family?

It was at the thought of his family that Scrooge decided to show them his appreciation. After all, a treasure like his family deserved to know that they were well loved, didn’t they? Scrooge went to his charts and maps. There had to be something good in here, a special treat that the children would enjoy and something that Donald could relax on.

English ghost haunting a manor?

Passé.

Viking ships ravaging coastal villages?

Maybe.

Scrooge searched until he found an adventure worth his family’s time. It was a lost African mine! Oh, the children would love it!   

“I haven’t been to Africa in ages!” Scrooge pressed the intercom button on his desk and said, “Mrs. Beakley, we’re going on a family day trip to the African plains. We’ll need camping supplies, flares, spelunking gear, torches – are you getting all this, Mrs. Beakley?” Scrooge was met with the static of the intercom. He sighed and pressed the button again. “Ha, ha, ha, very funny Mrs. Beakley. You’re not my secretary, I get it.”

The static continued.

“Mrs. Beakley?” Scrooge asked. “Are you there? Bentina? Dear?”

She never answered him. Scrooge left his office and tried to ignore the gnawing fear in his heart. He couldn’t recall a time where Mrs. Beakley didn’t answer his calls. In fact, more often than not, she was the one who called. She checked up on him when he was moody, when he had his bad days, or when he was obsessed with some new business venture. Mrs. Beakley was always there. She never left him out in the lurch except – Scrooge gasped. Maybe she left a note somewhere. He did have a bad habit of losing touch of the world around him and if she needed to go somewhere, she would leave a note.

Scrooge doubled back to his bedroom. He made a beeline for his nightstand for the note that she had left him only to be horribly disappointed. There wasn’t a note waiting for him. Scrooge deeply frowned.

“Where in dismal downs would she have…?”

Then it struck him. The kitchen! Of course! How could he have been so blind? He could put off sleep for a day or two but he had to eat sometime. His fears pacified, Scrooge calmly walked to the kitchen. No doubt there would be note on the fridge reminding him that she was going out and that she wouldn’t be home till late and it wouldn’t kill him to sit down and have an actual meal today.

There wasn’t a note.

Scrooge nervously laughed. His mind racked for why Mrs. Beakley wouldn’t tell him where she was going. It took his mind a second to catch on but Scrooge realized what was the point of letters and notes when there was always someone at the manor? She didn’t have to communicate through the written word anymore. There were people inside the house now. He had people now. Scrooge immediately thought of Donald. Between him and Launchpad, Donald was second in command.

He perked up a little at the thought of his dear nephew. Scrooge was glad that Donald had decided to take him up on his offer to live inside the manor. It had been far too long since they had seen each other. Now, every morning, Donald and the boys were at his breakfast table.

They were a family again.

Scrooge went to the backyard but when he opened the door outside, Donald’s houseboat was gone from the pool. Fear coursed through him. Donald couldn’t have been anywhere near close to fully repairing his boat. He was done, he would have taken the boys back out to the docks and –

Scrooge raced to the boys’ bedrooms. Donald wouldn’t have taken the boys away without letting him say goodbye to them. They were on better terms now! They were a family again. Up the stairs, Scrooge ran. He made it to the children’s rooms in record time. He nearly cracked the door as he kicked it open.

The bedroom was in a terrible state. Dust and cobwebs covered the room. The scent of mildew was thick in the air. Running on pure fear, Scrooge ran to Donald’s room and found the exact same thing. The room hadn’t been touched by anyone in years. His heart in a vice grip, Scrooge tried to remain calm but found that it was impossible.

“Donald?” Scrooge called out. “Donald? Lad? If this is a joke,” his voice broke, “it isn’t very funny.”

What he would have given to hear his nephew’s laughter and teasing how easy it was to rile him up. It had to be a cruel joke. Donald must have gotten Launchpad and the boys in on it. Webby was probably in on it too. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she was recording his movements. The lass was more ninja than she was a child.

“Alright! You got me! You got Scrooge McDuck! You can all come out now!”

No such thing happened.

Tears stun his eyes. They had left him. Mrs. Beakley, Launchpad, Donald, the children…they had abandoned him.

“No! No, they love me! They love me. They wouldn’t do that to me. My family loves me. They wouldn’t…this is a bad dream. I’m dreaming!” Scrooge realized. “That’s it!” He pinched himself as hard as he could but when he opened his eyes, the mansion was still rotting and he was still alone. “No…” Scrooge shook his head. He hadn’t pinched himself hard enough. That had to be it. Scrooge dug into his feathers until he drew blood.

The manor continued to rot around him.

He dug in deeper till the little blood droplets became wound.

The manor was still rotting.

He clawed at his wound until it was bleeding profusely but the manor stayed the same.

Scrooge put his hand over his wound. He had gone too far this time. He tried to stop the bleeding, he truly did, but it was too severe.

“M-Mrs. Beakley!” he weakly called out. “Help! Mrs. Beakley….Donald!”

The room started to spin. Scrooge collapsed.

“…help…me…” he begged. “…someone help me…”

No one came.


	6. Huey, Louie, and Dewey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abandonment issues run in the family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to give the boys their own chapter but it bogged down the story too much. I hope that this is sad enough!

 

 

It was late in the afternoon when the children came home. Tired and hungry, the four ducklings made the arduous climb up the hill.

“Why does Uncle Scrooge have to live on a hill?” moaned Dewey, pushing his bike.

“It’s what rich guys do, dude,” panted Louie. “They always build on the tallest point so people can see how rich they are and then they go “See? Look how rich I am”.”

“There’s probably some really nice slightly elevated areas in the neighborhood,” added Huey. “We could convince to move to a place that isn’t so…tall.”

“Can’t move…too much history…too much stuff ” groaned Webby. “At least, we’re nearly home.”

Seeing the garage was a relief until they saw the mess that they had left behind. Louie dramatically collapsed to his knees. “Why does bad stuff keep happening to us?”

“I don’t want to clean,” complained Dewey.

“We promised that we would…” sighed Huey.

“Actually, you promised,” answered Louie, getting back up. “It’s on you.”

“Wha-Hey! That’s not fair! You guys agreed to it.”

“We’re minors,” argued Louie. “Any contract we agree to is null and void.”

“It’s a promise, not a contract,” corrected Dewey.

“Dude, who’s side are you on?” Louie asked, “I’m trying to get us out of this.”

“He’s on my side! Duh!” shouted Huey.

“I call Webby for my side!” shouted Louie.

“Did we get the mail when we came in?” Webby asked, scrunching her brow.

A chorus of groans and moans filled the air. They hadn’t gotten the mail. Webby turned her bike around and said, “I’ll go get it.”

“Are you sure, Webs?” Dewey asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Can you guys grab me a snack? I don’t wanna clean on an empty stomach.” Webby disappeared down the hill. The boys watched her go and immediately went back to their argument.

“There’s gotta be a way to get out of cleaning this mess up,” bemoaned Louie.

“Like what?” Huey asked.

“What if…,” Dewey pondered, “What if we told Uncle Scrooge what happened, we tell him we’re going to clean it up, but to do a good job, we’re going to need to turn the lights on. It gets dark and whoops, we’re working late into the night. He won’t want to waste electricity. So then, we tell him we’ll clean it up tomorrow morning, where we’ll have the sun as our light?”

“Sounds good,” admitted Louie, “But Scrooge owns the electric plant. He could just cut himself a break. Or worse, he’ll think we’re being like him, you know? Working late into the night? This could become a habit.”

“Okay, okay, how about this?” started Huey, “We clean up until Uncle Donald calls us for dinner and then we fall asleep? He can’t make us clean if we’re asleep.”

“How tired are you?” asked Dewey.

“The only thing keeping me up right now is pure willpower and three cans of Pep,” answered Huey.

“I vote that we skip cleaning, grab a snack, take a nap, and then clean after dinner,” proposed Louie.

“I second that motion,” agreed Dewey. “Huey?”

The eldest brother nodded his head. “The motion passes. I’m going to go take a nap.”

“Don’t you want a snack?”

“Leave it on my nightstand. I’ll eat it in my sleep.” Huey left his brothers and walked into the manor house through the garage unaware of what was waiting inside.

“I’ll put the bikes up,” offered Louie.

“I’ll get started on the snacks,” said Dewey. He left the garage and went to the side door as a shortcut.

Louie sighed as he brought the bikes in. He closed the garage door and in a matter of seconds was fully breathing in the cursed air pulsing through the manor house. Out of the boys, it was Dewey who succumbed to the curse first. He never made it to the kitchen. He was running, having gained a second wind, and by the time he reached the landing, he was trapped in his fears.

Louie was the second to fall victim to the curse. He’d complained and moaned about the unfairness of cleaning up the garage when Scrooge was the one who let it go in the first place. Between his ranting, he never stood a chance.

Huey was the final holdout. The shallow deep breaths he took as he went to his bed had initially spared him. However, upon curling up under his covers, he yawned and breathed in the toxic air. Before he ever fell asleep, Huey surrendered to the curse.

The triplets each had different fears. Huey feared failure, Dewey feared being alone, and Louie feared poverty. Donald had raised them well but they knew of the adult worries and pressure. Louie despised it when collectors called or when bills came in. It always stressed his uncle Donald out. It wasn’t fair the way the collectors hounded his uncle. He worked really hard to provide a home, food, and clothes. Why couldn’t they see that?

Sometimes, Donald had to work long hours. He had to leave them alone. The boys knew that he didn’t want to but his job required it and he couldn’t afford a babysitter. So, he was forced to leave alone. Dewey knew that it was for the best but whenever his uncle would drive off to whatever new job he had landed, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the last time he ever got to see his uncle. Their mother, whom Donald cared deeply and spoke highly of, had to leave out of some obscure necessity that Donald refused to talk further about. Who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to him? Their mother loved them but she was gone. Donald loved them. Would he be next?

For Huey, the worst part about Donald taking on a new job wasn’t leaving or the collectors calling to instate a lien on his earnings but the look on Donald’s face when he was inevitably fired. His uncle was a hard worker, anyone with half a brain could see that, but he could never hold down a job long. Occasionally, it was because of them. Huey knew it. He researched it. Employers didn’t want to hire a single parent with three kids. The look of shame on Donald’s face when he would come back and calmly explain that, no, he didn’t get the job or was fired was horrible.

Each of these individual fears came with the singular purpose: that it would break up their family.

Although each child was in a separate part of the house, they woke to the same hellish nightmare. A woman in a navy suit with a shiny badge and a smile too white and too big.

“Who are you?” Dewey asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Why are you here?” Huey asked, sitting up.

“How’d you get past the security system?” Louie asked his guard immediately up.

The woman laughed and her smile got bigger. “Don’t worry about my name,” she grinned. “I’m here to help you.” Her voice was sugary sweet – completely fake.

“Get out,” Louie demanded, taking a step back.

The woman continued to grin. “Don’t be afraid, little boy. I’m here to help you.”

“Don’t touch me,” Dewey swatted her hand away from his head. No one but Uncle Donald could ruffle his hair.

She wouldn’t stop smiling. The woman continued to advance towards them. Together, they might have found solace facing the same nightmare but trapped away, the boys were only a third as strong as they would have been.

“Take another step closer and I’ll scream for my Uncle Donald,” Huey threatened. “He’ll be angry at you.”

The woman’s laugh was unnatural. It was as sweet as her voice and left the same bitter feeling within the boys. “Silly little boy, who do you think called me? I’m with Children’s Protective Services. I’m here to put you in a new home.”

“NO!” shouted Huey, Louie, and Dewey at the woman who appeared separately before them but the woman still walked towards them. She grabbed them by their wrist and pulled them out of the house. No matter how hard they kicked, punched, or even bit the woman, she wouldn’t let go. Huey screamed the loudest in defiance as he was pulled outside. Dewey dug his heels into the ground. Louie held onto the front door frame until he couldn’t hold on any longer.

In three separate black cars, the boys were thrown into the backseat. Immediately, they dove for the handle to escape but the woman had locked them inside. They banged on the windows, tackled themselves against the door, and tried to kick out the back window but nothing would budge. It was then that they screamed as hard and as loud as they could.

“UNCLE DONALD!”

He would come running and when he saw that the woman was trying to do, he would be furious. And right on cue, just as they finished screaming, their uncle did appear but he wasn't running. He calmly walked out of the house. When he saw them inside the cars, it barely registered.

“UNCLE DONALD!” Huey screamed.

“HELP!” Louie shouted.

“SHE’S TAKING US AWAY!” Dewey screeched.

“Good,” answered Donald, his voice as cold as ice.

The boys were startled by his careless attitude and pleaded again.

“Don’t let her take us away!” Dewey whimpered.

“We’ll be good, I swear,” Louie vowed.

“Please, please, don’t give up on us,” Huey begged.

And although they suffered separately, each boy came to the same final plea, “You love us, don’t you, dad?”

He may have been their uncle but Donald had raised them since they were born. For all intents and purposes, he was their father. But their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“I never wanted to raise you. I never wanted children. Your mother ran off and I got saddled with you,” Donald sneered. “Take the little brats away. I want to get on with my life.”

The woman grinned from ear to ear. The boys' screams were muted as she drove off with them.


	7. Webby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living in the manor could be suffocating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, Sinclaironfire here. So, I’ve noticed that a couple of you guys are worried that the story isn’t going to have a happy ending and I’ve addressed that in the comments section but just to reiterate, there will be a happy ending. Everyone gets free from the curse by an unlikely hero. They survive their nightmares and the ending is full of cuddling and happiness and joy. It’ll be a good ending, I promise.

Webby walked up the tall hill of which she lived on for a large chunk of her life. Her feet ached but she was okay with the pain. Before Huey, Dewey, and Louie came to live at the manor, she never walked down the hill before. There was never any need to. Her grandmother kept her inside the manor where she was safe. Whenever Webby asked her grandmother why she couldn’t go outside, her grandmother would reply, “Because it’s not safe, dear.”

And that would be the end of discussion.

Webby never knew what she had to be safe from. The manor housed all sorts of dangerous artifacts. From the ghosts to the ghouls to the cursed artifacts. What could be worse on the outside than what was on the inside of their home? Her granny wouldn’t tell her. Whatever was out there, it scared her granny and although Webby didn’t like or agree with being stuck indoors, she respected her granny’s wishes. But she hated being alone. So, she was forced to make her own fun. She played hop-scotch in the hallways, tag with the golems, and - now, that she looked back on it, she was probably the only kid who played jump rope with a suit of armor.

But she had fun…she guessed.

Playing in a big lonely manor got boring fast. Her granny was busy keeping the place clean and she didn’t have much time for her. Mr. McDuck was always around but he didn’t seem like the type to play either. He just looked sad and had this look in his eyes that made her feel like he was there physically but mentally, he was a million miles away.

It was on one rare occasion that he did sit down with her for a tea party. She had asked him nicely and maybe it was his mood that day or the way she begged but he said yes. The tea party had a rocky start. Mr. McDuck didn’t interact much with anyone back in those days let alone with children. He tried to carry on a conversation but eventually fell back to what he was comfortable with: treasure and adventure.

It didn’t take long for Webby to get wrap up in his stories or for her to realize that living in the same house was a real living legendary explorer who not only went outside but conquered the world as well. She fell in love with his exploits and wanted to know more. Before she knew it, keeping track of Scrooge’s adventures and his family was her hobby. It kept her happy for a time. Books were great, history was fun, but having friends? Real friends who wanted to hang out with her and go on adventures? That was better than any story or book.

She could never have imaged that she would have friends.

Every day brought a new adventure, new thrills, and as Webby opened the manor door, today brought a curse. The second she stepped into her home she was pulled under. The doors slammed behind her and when she turned around the door was gone. The windows were gone. There was no way out.

Webby pressed against the solid walls. Something had to give. Doors and windows didn’t just disappear. She fought against the immovable brick and when she found it to be unyielding, she decided to go a different route. There was a war hammer. Somewhere in the library. Webby ran as fast as she could. Along the way, the other windows disappeared. She was undeterred though. A good solid war hammer would make quick work of the walls. Grabbing the massive war hammer, Webby swung it against the library walls.

The war hammer shattered like glass.

Webby ran for a new weapon. This time it was a mace and yet, just like the war hammer. It shattered into a million pieces. Whatever weapon she chose, nothing could free her from the security of the manor’s walls.

“Granny!” Webby cried. “I can’t get out!”

The walls were closing in. Webby ran out before the shrinking library could kill her. The rest of the manor started to shrink. Webby dodged the falling antiques and weaponry. She raced to the front door and clawed against the walls where the door used to be.

“I can get out, I can get out, I can get out…” she chanted. She was starting to make headway. A little bit of light came in through a tiny hole. She could smell the fresh air. Through the hole, she saw Huey, Dewey, and Louie outside on their bikes.

“GUYS!” she screamed, “HELP! I’M TRAPPED!”

The boys rode off without her. They didn’t hear her cries.

“Guys? Please…,” she whimpered. “Please don’t leave….”

But the boys were gone and she was trapped in the manor forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this story starts to wrap up, I want to know what you guys want to see for my next story. I want to hear your suggestions. If you have an idea, leave a comment below!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Sinclair


	8. Gladstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of contrived coincidences.

There were three facts of life in the world. The first was that the world was round, the second was that the sky was blue, and the third was that Gladstone Gander was impossibly lucky. No matter what venture he would undertake, he would succeed without fail. Even if he didn’t want to do something it would turn out alright. Why? Because he was lucky. Everything in his life came to him so easily. The words “hard work”, “effort”, and “risk” were foreign to him. Why would he ever need to work hard when his luck would take care of everything for him? There was never any need to exert effort and taking a risk was pointless. What was risk when he won every time?

Gladstone lived a life of endless bliss and he knew it.

As he sunbathed on his yacht, his latest prize, he enjoyed his supernaturally charged luck until his yacht was suddenly run aground. Gladstone was knocked off and landed on the sandy beach. He was fine. Gladstone shrugged as he watched his yacht sink into the sea.

“Eh, the yacht was old anyway.”

There would be more yachts. That one was his seventh this year. Each time he won or was given a new yacht it would a better, shinier model. The loss didn’t register with him at all. He never carried personal items on him. Why would he ever? The clothes on his back were fine and his luck would carry him through any trouble he found himself in.

Gladstone enjoyed the sunset and when his yacht was swallowed by the ocean, he walked away. Already, he was anticipating what latest bit of good fortune he would receive. He was feeling an itch to do something big. He wasn’t sure what but he wanted to do something flashy, something grand, something that would put a sneer on his uncle’s face when he saw whatever he decided to go with.

“Scantily clad showgirls on a parade float who are throwing money into the air,” Was the first thing that his mind could come up with. The more he dwelled on it, the more he liked it.

“Hey! Sir! You dropped this!

Gladstone fixed his jacket. “Time to meet the girls.” He turned but didn’t find his little fantasy waiting for him. Instead, there was a man running towards him who was holding something up.

_What is it this time_ , Gladstone wondered as he doubled back to the person calling him, _keys to a brand new car? The winning lottery ticket? A new home?_

Gladstone held out his hand for the item _. What it is_ , he thought, _I hope it’s not too heavy_.

The other man put the item in Gladstone’s palm. When the lucky goose opened his eyes, a slimy feeling crept down his spine.

A dime.

It was a dime so shiny that it looked like his Uncle Scrooge had polished it himself.

“Are you okay, sir?” the man asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, thanks for giving his back to me.”

The other man smiled and then disappeared down the street. Gladstone twirled the dime between his fingers. It had been a while since he last saw his uncle and the rest of his extended family. That slimy feeling gnawed at him to go and visit his family. But there was a new casino in town. A casino that had never heard of the infamously lucky name of Gladstone Gander. He would take them to the cleaners.

Gladstone smiled deviously. However, to quell that awful feeling down his back, Gladstone decided to play a game of chance.

“Alright, heads I go to the casino. Tails, I visit the family.”

He flipped the dime in the air. He held out his hand and caught the dime.

He got tails.

“What?” Gladstone scoffed. “Must be a misfire.”

Gladstone flipped the dime and he got tails. He went on to flip the dime ten times, then twenty, to fifty and each time he got tails.

“Oh come on! It’s a casino! I’ll have them eating out of the palm of my hand!” He took a deep breath. “Okay, whatever. One last time, heads I go visit the family and tails I go to the casino.”

For the final time, Gladstone flipped the dime. He got heads.

“I get it. Geez, I can take a hint.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Now how to get there?”

On cue, a harried businessman in a shiny red convertible pulled up to the crib. He jumped out of the car with the engine still running. He ran right up to Gladstone and said, “My wife’s divorcing me and if she wins my Lucy – “

“Lucy?”

“My car!” the businessman sobbed. “I love it but if my bitch of an ex wins Lucy, she’ll send her to the dump to be crushed! If I sell Lucy to you will you treat her well?”

“Oh, I’d be honored to take her off your hands but I’m a little light on cash at the moment so…”

“What about that dime?” The businessman asked. “I’ll see Lucy to you for the dime.”

Gladstone opened his mouth, prepared to say yes but he didn’t. He held the dime close to his chest and answered, “Sorry buddy. Can’t do it. The dime…it’s a….” That feeling down his back wouldn’t go away. “It’s a good luck charm, you see. But hey, I just lost my home. My yacht crashed. You could give me Lucy as a charitable donation.”

The businessman’s eyes lit up. “Thank you!” He vigorously shook hands with Gladstone but then he added, “You know, you might want to get a new good luck charm. I don’t think it’s very lucky.”

Gladstone nodded. “It could have been worse. I could have died.”

“When you’re right, you’re right. Thanks again!”

“Yeah…no problem…” Gladstone got into his brand new car and drove in the direction of the manor. The tiny dime felt heavy in his pocket.

_Good luck charm_ , he thought, _I don’t need a good luck charm. I am charming. Why did I say that it was lucky?_

He was suddenly possessed to throw the dime away.

“It’s just a dime,” he told himself. “It’s not like it’s Scrooge’s dime.”

He definitely knew that it wasn’t Scrooge’s dime. The old man never let the dime off the necklace around his neck. If he did ever lose it, he would assemble the troops and scour the earth for it. Gladstone shook his head. It was ridiculous for his uncle to be so attached to something as insignificant as a dime. Yes, he knew the story about how his uncle worked his tail feathers off for his first bit of fortune. His uncle only showed off his dime to Gladstone about a million times for a lecture about how he was wasting his life away. He preached about hard work whenever he got the chance.

“I bet Donald doesn’t have to put up with that,” Gladstone sighed.

He merged onto the highway. A large truck sped up and passed him. Gladstone wasn’t paying attention to the traffic. It was after rush hour and there wasn’t much in the way of other cars. It wasn’t until the back of the large truck opened and its contents spilled out that Gladstone snapped back to driving.

“WHOA!” He swerved into the next lane and dodged the renegade items flying into the road. Quickly, he took the first exit he saw and pulled onto the side of the road. “I could have died!”

He rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. “What the fuck is going on with my luck today?”

The yacht crashing was unexpected but it was a solid yacht.

The car thing was normal. People gave him cars like they were going out of style.

But nearly getting killed on the road? Not normal. In fact, it was the opposite of what usually happened to him.

Gladstone laid down in the car and knocked his head onto an old-school gas mask. He grabbed it and shuddered. “Are you my mummy”, much? You are terrifying.”

Still, it gave him an idea. Since he was going to visit his beloved family, he could give Donald a scare. Gladstone drove on to the manor. Upon arriving at McDuck’s estate, Gladstone slipped on the gas mask.

“This is going to be good.”

He walked up to the front door and rubbed his hands. When they were children, he used to scare Donald all the time but then Donald went on adventures with their uncle Scrooge and suddenly he wasn’t able to scare him as badly anymore. It was a shame. Donald had the best frightened screams. Gladstone opened the door and stepped inside. He didn’t get the screams he wanted. Instead, he got Webby crying.

“I’m sorry!” Gladstone apologized. “It’s just me! It’s your uncle Gladstone! Hey…please, please stop crying…”

“There’s no way out…” she whimpered. “There’s no way out…”

“Uh, kid?” He got down on his knees. “Kiddo? The door is right there.”

She opened her mouth and wailed. Gladstone picked her up and brought her outside. “Hey! Look! The big outdoors! Isn’t that what you want? Huh, sweetie, the outdoors? Don’t you like being outside? Please stop crying. I’m not good with tears.” Gladstone said as he pulled off his gas mask. He felt utterly useless. His luck could do a lot of things but not stopping his honorary niece from crying. Tears started to well up in his eyes. “Webby, please, stop crying.”

Webby took gasping breaths and sniffled. She looked around and asked, “Wha…What am I doing out-outside?”

“Do you wanna go back in?”

“NO!” she tearfully shouted. Then she started to cough. Her little body shook with each cough she took.  

“Hey?” Gladstone rubbed her back. It was what his mother did on those rare moments when he was sick. “You okay, kid?”

Webby swallowed hard. Her eyes were red and her throat hurt. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she sobbed.

“Heh, that makes two of us,” he fiddled with the mask and then realized why his luck saw fit to give it to him. “Look, Webs, stay here for me, alright? I gotta go take care of some stuff. I’ll be back in a heartbeat, okay?”

She sniffled. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” He ruffled her hair and put his mask back on. Without a moment to lose, Gladstone entered the manor.


	9. Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladstone wanders through the curse infested manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Andy who wanted Gladstone to drop an F-bomb in a story. Here you go, Andy

He didn’t come to the manor house often.

It wasn’t that there wasn’t enough room for him or that it was a bad time but more because his Uncle Scrooge simply didn’t like his luck. Gladstone knew why. It wasn’t like his uncle ever hesitated to tell him that he was a freeloader, a leech, who never knew what it was like to work hard for something or to suffer. Donald, unfortunately, agreed with their Uncle about his work ethic or lack thereof.  

“You gotta try and see it from his point of view,” Donald said to him when they both turned eighteen. “He’s worked all his life to become, well, Scrooge McDuck. Luck bothers him.”

Gladstone rolled his eyes at the memory. So what if his luck gave him an edge? Wasn’t that a good thing? Everyone in the world was looked for a shortcut or a way to be one step ahead of the crowd. Some used mathematics, others tried that spiritual stuff, but him? He was a walking, talking, always one step ahead of everyone goose! He didn’t need a gimmick. He didn’t need hard work or to suffer to be better than everyone else, he already was.    

“I didn’t want to be in their stupid angst club anyways,” he muttered to himself as he wandered down the massive layout of the manor. “I don’t see Uncle Scrooge’s hard work helping him here.”

But then again, he didn’t see his own luck helping him either. The manor was insanely large. There were hallways that went on forever, rooms that could serve as someone’s apartment, and he was only on the first floor.

“Scrooge should have a directory for this place with nice big bold letters…or a GPS.”

It would take an eternity to search the manor from top to bottom. He found Webby right off the bat and whatever she been exposed to had taken its toll on the ten-year-old. Whatever was in the air, as his luck had given him a handy gas mask, it was toxic.

And his family was breathing it in.

Gladstone’s heart raced. Who knew how long his family was breathing whatever the hell was in the air? Gladstone shook his head. His family would be fine. After all, he was here. His luck wouldn’t have sent him the manor if everyone was dead. His luck wouldn’t allow him to find his family dead. Bad things didn’t happen to him.

Except for when his parents died.

Or how Della, his favorite cousin, disappeared off the face of the earth.

And that whole good luck eating demon Liu Hai.

Okay, so maybe bad things did happen to him but his luck…his luck would pull him through the bad times. It always did. There was never any reason to doubt his luck now. Whatever happened, he would fine in the end.

_But what about everyone else_ , he thought.

“No. You can’t think like that,” Gladstone told himself. “It wouldn’t happen. It can’t happen.”

_Why not_ , his mind wandered, _it’s happened before_.

“NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT!,” he declared. Gladstone ran. He didn’t know where he was going but he would be damned if he let his family die. Through the maze-like manor he ran, he didn’t stop running until he heard the sounds of faint crying.

Straining his ears, Gladstone followed the crying until he found himself in the kitchen. On the floor was Mrs. Beakley. Now, Mrs. Beakley was a scary woman. Gladstone held beliefs that his Uncle’s housekeeper was some former special-ops or spy or something. Whatever Mrs. Beakley did before bizarrely deciding to clean Scrooge’s house, Gladstone was sure that it involved killing people. She had the vibe of someone who had totally snapped at least five people’s necks before. So, when he found her sobbing hysterically on the kitchen floor, it scared the shit out of him. Because she was Mrs. Beakley! She was strong! She could handle his uncle with panache!

“They’re dead,” she sobbed. “They’re all dead….”

“Fuck,” said Gladstone. “DONALD? UNCLE SCROOGE? KIDS?”

He helped Mrs. Beakley up and tried to ignore the increasing fear in his heart.

“Luck don’t fail me now.”


	10. Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladstone uses his luck to his advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick. I'm probably not gonna update tomorrow. If you want to follow, talk, or ask me a question, find me on Tumblr just search for sincerelysinclair17.

As Gladstone helped Mrs. Beakley out the front door and to the yard, he couldn’t help but worry about everyone he hadn’t found yet. Mrs. Beakley was in some sort of shock and could only mutter, “They’re dead. They’re all dead,” over and over again. He wished that she would stop saying that but the housekeeper was in a different world. Nothing he said got through to her.

“They’re dead…” she mumbled again as they stepped onto the yard. “They’re all dead.”

“Webby!” Gladstone shouted. “I could use a hand!”

“Granny!”

Mrs. Beakley laid down on the warm grass and still, she cried, “They’re dead…they’re all dead.”

“Granny?” Webby whimpered. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with my Granny?”

She looked at him with big pleading eyes and in one horrible moment, Gladstone realized that he was no longer the ‘fun uncle’ but the responsible adult to whom children would ask questions to. His first instinct was to lie. Lying was better, right? It was better than telling a small kid that her grandmother might be dying because oh, geez he didn’t want to be the person who had to tell her that. He couldn’t. But as much as he wanted to lie and comfort her that everything would be fine, he remembered how badly he wanted to know what was going on when his parents didn’t come home and the adults spoke in hushed tones and cast worried glances at him.

“I…I don’t know,” he admitted. Webby started to tear up and that made Gladstone want to cry because she was crying because he wasn’t equipped to handle tears. He was the fun uncle! He did fun things! Not your granny is dying things. “But don’t worry! I think…uh, I think that she’ll be okay. Just, uh, keep her on her side and make sure she um…she breathes?” Something inside him burned. “Webby! Make a bet with me!”

“What?”

“Make a bet! I bet that I can find everyone inside the manor in, um, uh, an hour or less or you get um…” he felt the dime in his pocket. “Or you win my good luck charm!”

Webby grinned as she caught on. “I bet you won’t.”

Renewed, Gladstone took off _. I can do this_ , he thought, _I don’t lose._

And while he didn’t lose very often, Gladstone didn’t take care of where he was running. Before he knew what had happened, he found himself tripping over an unconscious Launchpad who had a look of terror etched onto his face. Unlike Mrs. Beakley, Launchpad didn’t whimper or mumble. He was paralyzed by fear. This was a good and a bad thing. On the good side, Gladstone wasn’t forced to listen to cryptic messages about his family being dead but on the bad side, Launchpad was as stiff as a board and as heavy as a sequoia. Getting him outside was a trial but he did get Launchpad outside.

“Time?” Gladstone panted, putting Launchpad down.

“Forty minutes left,” answered Webby holding onto her grandmother’s hand tightly. Mrs. Beakley wasn’t muttering about death anymore. She was slowly starting to come around. “You’re going to win, right?” Webby asked.

He was never the heroic one. He didn’t go on adventures or save the day from destruction. He was just sort of on the side for the action and usually collected the spoils that everyone else worked hard for. Most of the time, he was just there to be devilishly good looking and to crack jokes at Donald’s expense.

“I’m gonna win big!” Gladstone said, getting back up. “Keep an eye on everyone, alright? I’m counting on you, Webs.”

“I will Uncle Gladstone.”

Back inside the manor he went. It didn’t take him very long to find the next member of his family. An anguished howl of pure pain echoed through the manor. Gladstone knew it. He’d only heard it once before. It was the night after he watched his aunt and uncle buried in the ground. Neither Donald nor Della cried but at night, sharing a bunk bed with Donald, Gladstone heard the pained howl that shouted into his pillow. He never wanted to hear it again.

“DONALD!”

As Gladstone ran to his cousin, his mind was whirling with new emotions and thoughts. He was relieved to know that everyone or at least Donald was still among the living but the anguish, the sheer amount of pain that his cousin was in. He was either dying or maimed. Gladstone found him. There wasn’t a sign of physical injury on him that he could see.

“Donald!” he hugged his cousin tightly. “You’re okay! You scared the crap out of-“

“They’re gone!” Donald howled. “She took my boys!”

“WHAT? Who? Who took the kids?”

Donald collapsed into Gladstone’s grip and sobbed. “My boys are gone…they’re gone…I didn’t even get to give them a hug…” new tears freely flowed. “I-I didn’t get to say goodbye!”

“Donald?” Gladstone shook his cousin. “Donald, I don’t know where the boys are but I swear that they’re not gone. You’ll give them a hug. You’ll give them lots of hugs! Okay?”

“I want my boys back!” Donald shouted, unaware that Gladstone was in front of him.

“I know, I know….”

Getting Donald out of the house was one of the worst experiences of Gladstone’s life. Donald wore his emotions on his sleeve. The guy had no poker face to speak of. So when he was happy, it was obvious and when he was sad, it was painfully obvious. Whatever his cousin was seeing, whatever had been done to him was emotionally crippling. Donald had stopped functioning and there was no sign that he was ever coming back. When they reached the outdoors, Donald hadn’t stopped his cries. He was deep in his grief and nothing could rouse him.

“Don, please,” Gladstone begged. “You’re scaring me. Say something, please?”

“Gladstone,” Webby urged. “You’ve got half an hour left!”

He wanted to stay by his cousin’s side but his nephews needed him. “I’m going! I’m gone!”

He rushed back in without a second thought. Finding the boys was harder than he anticipated. He thought that they would be in the same place but they were spread out through the manor. So much time had passed as Gladstone searched that he began to fear the worst.

_They’re dead_ , he worried _, they’re dead. This will kill Don. I gotta find the kids. I gotta find the kids_!

And he did. Though it took the most amount of time, he found Huey, Dewey, and Louie. They were alive but much like their Uncle Donald, they had that same grief-stricken howl. It broke Gladstone’s heart as he picked them up. Just when he thought the boys couldn’t break his heart any further, he heard them whimper, “You love us, don’t you, dad?”

No need to guess who “dad” was.

“Yeah, your dad loves you guys like crazy,” he said softly. “Come on, beans, let’s go see your dad.”

Carrying the triplets on his back, Gladstone walked out of the manor.

Out in the yard, Donald gasped for air. The world spun under his feet and he was forced to stay down. Gladstone half-expected his cousin to pass out in the yard but Donald heard Huey, Dewey, and Louie’s cries. His head snapped up. The dazed look in his eyes faded and he saw the world with clarity.

“BOYS!”

The boys were still under the curse but a part of them knew that they were being held by their uncle. They cried into his shirt. Donald wanted to hold onto them forever but his McDuck anger was starting to shine through.

“What the fuck happened?” Donald asked Gladstone.

“I don’t know,” he answered, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s something in the air? It’s not natural.”

“Whatever it is, I’m gonna kill it.”

“Donald, you should, like, I don’t know, lay down and rest.”

“No!” Donald shakily stood up. “Whatever,” he wheezed, “Whatever did this to us, it’s still in the house alone with Uncle Scrooge. It hurt my boys. It hurt my family. I wanna make it hurt,” he cried.

Gladstone put his hands on Donald’s shoulders and forced him to lie back down. “I’m not saying that violence isn’t the answer, violence is always the answer with this family, but the kids? They’ve been through some serious shit today and, you know, if I was them and I saw whatever the fuck they were seeing, the first person I would want to see would be you. Because you’re their dad. And a dad is a parent and a parent is supposed to make the bad things go away and…” Gladstone teared up. “They need you right now.”

Donald didn’t argue. He crawled over to his boys and sat on the ground with the triplets in his lap. “My boys,” he said as he placed a kiss on their foreheads. “My babies.”

“Good. I’m gonna go get Uncle Scrooge.”

“Gladstone?”

“Yeah, Don?” he asked turning back.

“Be careful.”

“I will.”


	11. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is important as is breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! I'm so sorry for being away for like a week. I was as sick as a dog. Have some family angst as an apology.

 

Gladstone was never the hero, not in the traditional sense anyways. When it came to people like Scrooge or Donald, they worked hard to achieve their victory but him? He just had to show up and the world would offer everything to him on a silver plate. It drove Donald and his uncle insane, Scrooge more than Donald. He remembered the lectures when they were kids. His uncle tried to instill some sort of work ethic into him. The lectures and lessons didn’t stick with him but they made a lasting impression on Donald. Scrooge preferred Donald over him. He knew it. It wasn’t like Scrooge tried to hide it. Still, that was no reason for him to not like him. His luck was part of him. He couldn’t help it. He was born that way. It wasn’t like he could turn his luck on or off. As far as he knew there wasn’t a force in the world that could counter his naturally occurring luck. He was stuck with it for the rest of his life.

He would never need to worry about finding a soft place to fall back on. Gladstone’s luck was his soft place. It would provide for him, gave him whatever he needed, and protected him for the pratfalls of life. He never had the need to worry about anything.

Except for now.

Gladstone had rescued every member of his family from the toxic air inside the manor except for his Uncle Scrooge. The manor was vast and though he quite literally had luck on his side, finding his uncle proved to be the most difficult task he’d ever encountered. No matter where he went, Scrooge was nowhere to be found.

“I hate this house.”

Of course, Scrooge would just have to live in a home that had half a dozen bedrooms, three kitchens, twenty million living rooms, and seven libraries. His uncle was the living definition of cheapskate but he just had to have a massive home. It didn’t make any sense. He reused birthday candles, he picked up loose change on the ground…His greatest achievement was earning a dime of all things!  It wasn’t amassing the greatest fortune in the world but a dime.

“Couldn’t have been happy with a one bedroom apartment. No…needed a freaking manor for…” Gladstone peered down a hallway that he never saw before. There was a light at the end of it. “…for everyone.”

Down the hallway, there was nothing but paintings and photos of the entire family. The kids, Donald, photos of the old man himself were up. Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad had made it onto the wall too. Familiar but distant faces were hung with care. Gladstone’s was missing or so he thought. Four leaf clovers decorated his frame as he stood proudly holding up his degree with Uncle Scrooge clapping him firmly on the back.

“Old softie…”

Gladstone sighed and went down the rest of the hallway to the light. He peeked into the room. It was Scrooge’s office.

“Uncle Scrooge? You in here?”

 He half-expected a scolding stepping inside of his Uncle’s office. What he didn’t expect was to find his uncle on the floor, tightly gripping his arm like his life depended on it. Gladstone rushed in. Some people never showed fear and Scrooge was one of those people. He didn’t get intimidated, he was the person intimidating other people. Scrooge was a force of nature and to see him so quiet and broken created an unease in Gladstone that he hadn’t felt since his parents died.

“Uncle Scrooge?” he gently shook Scrooge to get a reaction. He needed to know that he was okay but Scrooge remained motionless. Was he even breathing? With his mask on, Gladstone couldn’t tell. He pressed his fingers against Scrooge’s neck. A whimper of a heartbeat was felt.

Scrooge was dying.

Whatever toxicity had invaded the manor, it had hurt Scrooge the most. His life was being smothered out of him. Gladstone took in a deep breath. He took off the gas mask and placed it on his uncle. Gladstone grabbed Scrooge and ran out of the manor. Going down the stairs while holding his uncle was the hardest part. Every step he took, his heart pounded. He wanted air. Gladstone exhaled and clamped his beak shut. A few more feet! He could see the front door and smell the sweet summer air. His lungs were screaming. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. Gladstone gasped and inhaled the cursed air. He stumbled outside with Scrooge and promptly fell to the ground. Tiny hands helped him up.

“You did it!” Webby smiled brightly at him. “You really did it!”

“Yay…” he weakly cheered. “How’s Scrooge?”

He wanted to look over but he couldn’t see straight. Whatever was in the air was giving him the worst headache of his life. Hacking from his elderly uncle gave him a slight clue. Webby pulled the gas mask off of him. Seconds later, Scrooge was hacking and coughing. Faint Scottish curses followed before Scrooge settled for passing out. Gladstone knew a few words and phrases but what he could decipher was nothing for small ears to hear.

“So, you’re not dead,” Gladstone tried to joke to his unconscious uncle. “Nice.”

Wobbly, Gladstone sat up and looked around. His skull was pounding but he needed to know that everyone was okay. His entire family was lying out in the front yard. The curse was starting to lift. Donald had fallen asleep or maybe he was passed out from exhaustion but he was still holding on to Huey, Louie, and Dewey. Launchpad was lying as still as he could. He kept rubbing his face and sighing. Mrs. Beakley hadn’t stopped crying. Tears silently trailed down her face. Everyone was a mess but they were alive and okay now, right? Gladstone looked back at the manor. The toxic air flowed freely through the open door. He knew what he had to do.

“Hey, Webs?”

“I gotta go take of something. I’ll be right back.”

“You can’t!” Webby protested. “It’s way too dangerous.”

Gladstone held up his gas mask. “I’ll be fine. I gotta make sure that whatever is inside doesn’t infect the city.”

“Please don’t…” she begged. “The air, it’s cursed! Curses are super tricky to break and are totally unique to the person who first cast it. Even if you do find the cursed object or whatever, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be able to break it.”

“I think I can. I’ve got lady luck on my side.” He slipped on the gas mask. “I’ll be back in a few. Keep an eye on everyone for me, kiddo.”


	12. Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladstone's luck comes with a heavy price tag

 

 

Gladstone didn’t know what he was looking for but he was fairly confident that he could find that curse. How hard could it be? Curses were rarely small and quiet. Curses were chaos personified. Everything they did was big and loud and if the curse that invaded the McDuck manor was anything to go by, this curse was one of the worst ever. Cautiously, he traveled through the manor. He didn’t feel in danger but then again, he didn’t feel in danger when it came to Liu Hai either. Was this going to be a repeat of the casino? He hoped not. Having that parasite feed off of him like he was a dish on the buffet was sickening.

If he stood still, he could feel Liu Hai’s tongue wrapped around his body taking every bit of good luck that he could conjure up. Gladstone shuddered and kept moving. He pushed Liu Hai far out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Somewhere in the vast manor, there was a curse floating about. It was up to him to destroy it.

“Where are you?”

A better question would have been to ask ‘What are you’. Curses came in all shapes and sizes. When it came to a home like the McDuck manor, the curse could have hidden for years without anyone finding it. However, Gladstone Gander was just ‘anyone’, he was lucky. And, as luck would have it, the cursed necklace was rattled through the manor’s ventilation system. It rolled out one of the vents and straight to Gladstone’s feet. The pretty but deadly necklace glowed a sickly green. Gladstone bent down to pick it up but the glow became brighter. Light engulfed the hallway. When he could see again, a shadow of a woman, tall and regal, appeared before him. She smiled slyly. “You’re ruining my fun.”

“I guess you’re the cause of all of this?”

“I am,” she answered with a grin too wide for Gladstone’s liking.

“Who are you?”

“I could ask you the same question, thief.”

Gladstone scowled. “I’m not a thief.”

“Oh yes, you are. I can sense it. You’ve got a triple distelfink hex on you. Those are rare. Nicely done, thief. Who did you steal that from?”

“I. Didn’t. Steal. It.” He hissed.

The sorceress looked at Gladstone. A chill came over him. He realized that she was dissecting his very essence. Every wisp of hair, how he breathed, even the way he carried himself, this sorceress was putting him under a microscope to see what made him tick.

“Your mother,” the sorceress smirked. “You stole her luck.”

“No! I – I, my luck is inherited. She passed it on –“

“And then she passed on. She’s dead because of you.”

“Shut up! My parents had an accident –“

“Dying in an eating contest could hardly be called an accident,” the sorceress floated beside him, “But then again, what lovely foie gras.”

“Go fu-“

“Don’t,” she threatened, wrapping her spiritual form around him. “I might be dead but I have enough power left over to wipe you off the face of the earth.”

“Then why don’t you?” Gladstone bluffed.

She released him. “I’ll make a deal with you, thief. I need souls to fully gain back my physical form. Give me back those who you rescued and I’ll reward you. What is it that your heart desires?”

“Knowledge,” answered Gladstone.

“How refreshing. Many usually want wealth, lovers, or revenge. What do you want to know?”

“My luck. How did you know it’s a triple distelfink hex?”

She scoffed. “I could hardly call myself a sorceress if I wasn’t able to identify one when it’s standing right in front of me.”

“Do you know how it works?”

“Give and take. It’s basic magic. You can’t get something for nothing. In order for your good luck to happen, something bad has to happen to someone else. Your cousin, Donald, was it? His luck is poor but when you’re around, it takes a severe nosedive. You stole his fortune.”

Gladstone flinched. “I didn’t mean to –“

“Maybe not but that’s what you do. While good things happen to you, you’re a bad luck magnet for everyone else. Did it honestly never occur to you? Your hex is beyond the natural realm. It takes and it takes and it takes until there is nothing more and it’s all to keep you happy and content. You are a bottomless pit. You will never be satisfied.”

“So there’s no way to control who I take from?”

“I didn’t say that my dear thief but if you want to know more, how to control your hex, I will need the lives of those who you rescued. Bring them to me and you shall know all.”

“Yeah, about that, go to hell.” Gladstone threw the necklace on the ground. It shattered into a million pieces. The sorceress’ screamed as she dissipated into nothing. Although she was gone, Gladstone could still feel her presence in the house. She was everywhere – in the walls, on the floor, in the very air. The sorceress lingered but she was dead for a second time and that was enough for Gladstone. He had enough of magic and curses and hexes. He wanted his family. When Gladstone returned, his family was more or less coming out of effects of breathing in the toxic air.

“I got rid of the curse,” announced Gladstone to his family. “But it’s not safe to go back in there.”

“Just as well,” said a beleaguered Mrs. Beakley. “I don’t think anyone could sleep well inside the manor, I know I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to go inside,” added Webby who became distressed at the mere thought of sleeping inside the formerly cursed manor.

“Where are we supposed to sleep for the night?”

“A hotel,” answered Donald. “A big hotel room.”

“The Money Bin has more than enough space and security to keep us comfortable for the night,” said Mrs. Beakley. “It’s safe inside the bin.”

“We can’t stay inside the Money Bin. The kids need beds, not cots.”

“Security is more important right now.”

“After what everyone’s been through, a mattress and sheets are needed. We’re here. We’re safe.”

“What are we gonna do about the mansion?” asked Dewey.

“I say we burn it,” groaned Scrooge, speaking for the first time that night. Everyone stared at him. “What? It’s my home!”

“As much as my inner arsonist wants to say yes,” Gladstone said, “Somehow I think that releasing a nightmare fuel gas into the city would be a bad thing.”

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Mrs. Beakley, “Do you have a paranormal expert on speed-dial?”

“I do actually,” said Launchpad raising his hand “I’ll give Morgana a call.”

“Uncle Donald, um, where are we going to sleep tonight?” asked Louie.

“The Money Bin,” argued Mrs. Beakley.

“There’s room to sleep in the hangar,” said Launchpad, diverting his attention away from his cell. “No, yeah, DW, I’m here. Can you put Morgana on? Thanks.”

“Hold on, I got us covered,” Gladstone said before Donald and Mrs. Beakley could start up again. “I wish we had a place to sleep tonight.”

A plane could be heard overhead. To no one’s surprise, a shipment of camping supplies fell into the yard. The supplies came ready to use, even the fire in the fire pit was lit and burning brightly. Gladstone grinned at his unnatural good luck but his mood was dampened knowing that providing for his family, he had stolen from someone.

_It’s alright this time_ , he thought. _We need it. No one is in any condition to go anywhere right now._

The children and his cousin gathered around the fire while Scrooge, looking pale and gaunt, rested by Beakley who kept looking over her shoulder. Gladstone stayed nearby but part of him felt drawn to the manor. The sorceress still had her grip in this world.

 

An hour later, Launchpad’s paranormal expert showed up. Morgana McCawber was tall, elegant, and reminded Gladstone too much of the sorceress that had nearly killed everyone. He kept an eye on her as she sashayed her way up the hill.

“I came as quickly as I could,” she said as she clasped her hands together. “You said that there was a curse?”

“Yeah or something like that,” shrugged Launchpad. “It’s magical and you know tons of magical stuff so could you take a look at it?”

“Of course!” she disappeared inside the manor without any protective gear on. Gladstone slipped on his gas mask and followed her inside. He wanted to trust Launchpad and his so-called expert in the paranormal but he had to see for himself that the sorceress was truly gone. Quietly, he followed Morgana. He didn’t make a sound. It was like he wasn’t even there but Morgana was sharper than she looked.

“I know you’re there. Wouldn’t you prefer to come out instead of hiding in the shadows?”

Now that she had called him out, Gladstone did appear. Morgana looked at him and just like the sorceress, she grinned. “Well, aren’t you lucky?”

“You can see it too?”

“Any sorceress worth her salt can identify a hex,” explained Morgana. “But I’ve never seen one quite like yours before nor have I ever seen a curse like this. Does your uncle usually keep dangerous artifacts in his home?”

“He’s a bit of a packrat. So, do you think you can fix whatever this is?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m good at curses.”

Gladstone eyed her warily. Morgana held up her hands and shook her head. “I don’t place curses anymore. I used to but – well, sometimes I need to place a curse or two but I don’t place them on innocent bystanders.”

“Charming.”

“I try to be.” She hummed an unfamiliar tune. The toxic air flowed around her until it formed a pale green ball. She placed the ball inside of her outrageously tall updo.

“Nice hair.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “It’s full of secrets.”

“Speaking of secrets, I don’t know about you magical types but can you, I mean, is there a way to let me in?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” frowned Morgana.

“Is there a secret society or something? Cause I’m lucky and it’s from a hex so I can I get in?”

“There are societies but you don’t need to know a password or a secret handshake,” she laughed. “What do you wish to know?”

“Hexes,” he answered her instantly.

“Want to do research on your luck? Hmm, I could bring you some reading material if you like. It wouldn’t be anything too advance that you couldn’t find in your local library but –“

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

He had to know more about his fortune. He could manipulate his luck and make it work to his advantage but if it did truly come to at the expense of others, there had to be a way to negate the effects. He couldn’t keep living the way he was anymore, not with the knowledge he now held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


End file.
